


Long Live The Kings

by moldymilk



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, F/F, M/M, More tags to be added, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, duke!race, im like. half sorry for this, lying, prince!jack, prince!spot, princess!katherine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2018-12-10 03:42:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11683302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moldymilk/pseuds/moldymilk
Summary: Sean Conlon, future King of Brooklyn, hates his life for more reason than one.1. He didn't exactly choose to be royalty, and doesn't want to be.2. His parents arranged a marriage with Jack Pulitzer, future King of Manhattan, a guy he's never met.3. While staying in the Manhattan palace, he falls for someone, but it's not Jack.-a royalty au





	1. Chapter 1

Spot Conlon hates his parents. He hates his life. Not in the 'I want to die' kind of way, the 'I wish I was born as someone else' life-hating. He shouldn't, given that he's the prince and future king of Brooklyn, but he does. It's a fact of life. The sky is blue, plants need water, teenage years are angsty, Spot Conlon hates his life, and the sun will rise and set once a day. 

His life could be worse, but it didn't feel like it in the moment. Spot's mother, the one and only queen of Brooklyn, had arranged a marriage with the future king of Manhattan, Jack Pulitzer. Without asking him, of course. That would be a crazy idea. Who would ask their child before deciding their entire future? Spot was already stressed enough over having to rule one kingdom in the near future, having to move to another one and co-rule over both didn't exactly help his blood pressure. 

He didn't even get to  _meet_  Jack until some ball later when they would announce the engagement to the public, which sucked because he only had two days to pack until he left to go live in the Manhattan palace, a place he had yet be inside for more than 5 hours. Spot had been to Manhattan before once when he went along with his father on a business trip when he was 13, but that was a short visit and the only person even remotely close to his age was the timid bookkeeper he saw upon accidentally wandering into the library. 

But still, as much as Spot cried and begged, something he never did, he couldn't sway either of his parents and was still very much on his way to Manhattan in two days' time. Spot didn't want this. He never wanted anything remotely close to this. He had made a promise to himself that he would only marry if it was someone exceptional, someone who could combat his witty remarks with more witty remarks, someone who could balance him and the rest of the world, someone who would make carrying the weight of Brooklyn on his shoulders easier. Someone who would choose to lift some of the weight from him, on their own accord and not just because their parents forced them too. Besides, with the way their deal was foretold to work out, Jack would carry all of the Manhattan duties and Spot would carry all of the Brooklyn duties. So, none of the weight would be lifted off of either of their shoulders. Perfect. 

The way the Conlons operated was very systematic and perfect. His parents would be off in either the library or their respective studies, making trade deals or other equally confusing deals with countries. His younger siblings would be learning about said trade deals and countries. Spot was either accompanying his parents in their studies or making deals, or studying future duties.

 Despite how perfect his family would appear to be, by night he would be sneaking out of the palace to visit his friends in the slums, the ones his parents would never approve of and therefore would never know about. Just one year ago it would've been extremely easy to hide them from the King and Queen, Spot never would've been engaged to Jack Kelly, and he would've been free to live his life doing whatever the hell he pleased, as long as it wasn't treason. 

He had put up a barrier between the version of himself on the streets and the version of himself in the palace. The one on the streets, Spot, was the fearless leader of a ragtag group of orphans and runaways, the one who never backed down from a fight, the one who would secretly pay for food for his band of children. Spot looked out for his own, Spot trusted few with the secret that he was actually the one and only Sean Conlon, Prince of Brooklyn. To the others who he didn't trust, the 'Conlon' following his name was in protest to the Royal Family. 

But then there was Sean. Sean Conlon was the son of Alastair and Carissa Conlon, the heir to the throne of Brooklyn. The regal son who knew the books far too well. The son who preferred to spend his time reading instead of learning to fight. The one who was well behaved during events for the thirty minutes in which he would actually make an appearance. The one who, unbeknownst to all but himself, broke down behind closed doors. The one who only felt like himself when he was stealing for the adrenaline rush. The Sean Conlon whose parents refused to let outside of the castle walls so the public would never see his face. The sheltered Sean, the 'innocent' yet too smart for his own good Sean. Sean had everything: money, a future, a fiancé. Yet still, he preferred to be Spot over Sean.

Spot was currently avoiding whatever princely duty he had at the moment by sneaking out of his window to meet with Blink and Mush, his seconds in command of his little gang. They were the only two who knew that Spot was the prince, that Spot secretly went back and payed for some of the things they stole if he knew their victim wasn't well off. They were his sole confidants, the ones he could tell things to that he couldn't tell even his own family. He had promised them jobs at the palace as soon as he could talk to his mother and father about needing some personal servants. 

Once he was fully out of the window and on the ground, Spot took off to find Blink and Mush.

"Spotty! How've ya' been."

"I've been doin' just fine, Mushy." Spot clapped Mush on the shoulder. "Except for the part where my fucking parents arranged a marriage for me with a guy I've never met, and I don't even get to stay in Brooklyn."

"That sucks, man. Where ya' gonna be living now?" Blink cut in, standing on Spot's other side.

"Not now quite yet, my dearest Blink. I got two days before they ship me off to marry Jack Pulitzer, the one man I truly love." He finished the sentence with a smirk, his words dripping in sarcasm. There was a pause. "So," Spot continued on, "I's gonna spend these last forty eight hours learnin' by day and getting' into shit by night. Are you with me?"

"We's always with you, Sean." Spot stopped walking for a minute and grabbed Mush by the shirt collar. 

"Don't fucking call me that,  _Michael._  Understood?" Mush paled visibly.

"Got it, Spot. Why, though? You were fine with it before as long as we weren't around other people."

"Because it reminds me that in two days I'm going to have to give up being Spot and I'm not exactly ready to just be Sean. I might as well take you assholes with me, if you're willing."

"What would we do, your majesty?" The sarcasm dripping from Blink's sentence was enough to fill a large swimming pool. 

"All you gotta do is be my servants by day, but by night we can sneak the other Brooklyn boys into the palace and have giant orgies."

"I'm down for that, and I'm pretty sure Blinky Boy here is too, when do we start?" Spot smirked.

"I bring it up to my parents tomorrow. Make sure to be wandering outside the front gates at noon."

"On it, boss." 

"See you tomorrow, then." With that Spot turned and left, leaving Blink and Mush alone in the pale moonlight. 

The next day he did manage to get Mush and Blink hired, but it was still hell. Just like his future. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'ALL I'M SORRY THIS IS LATE I HAVENT BEEN MOTIVATED BEFORE 10 LATELY BUT I GENERALLY GET TOO TIRED TO WRITE AFTER ONE

Today were the day. The day Spot moved into the Manhattan Palace, the day he left Spot behind and became Sean, the day signaling only seven weeks until he became Sean Conlon-Pulitzer, seven weeks left before he was unhappily wedded to Jack. Spot had already decided it was going to be a shit day. 

There were about 45 minutes left in the carriage ride to Manhattan, and luckily both Blink and Mush were in it with him, but they couldn't talk about the ragtag kid gang without risking the driver hearing.  So that left basically nothing for the trio to talk about, except that one topic that Spot was avoiding: his future. 

"Excuse me, Your Highness, but I would like to inform you that you're a massive dickhea-" Spot cut him off with a sharp elbow to the ribs.

"Shaddup Blink."

"Of course, Your Majesty. Will you be requiring anything else on this fine afternoon?"

"Yeah, I wish for your dick to be cut off." Mush chuckled at Spot's comment.

"But then what will Mush eat for his meals?" Mush turned an impressive shade of red.

"I suppose he can have a piece of this royal ass." Spot finished with a dramatic sigh, Mush winked at him, and Blink was almost in tears from laughing.

"What about me, Your Excellency? What shall I consume?"

"You" Spot glared at him in a friendly manner. "Shall starve. Unless you can come up with a better proposition." Now it was Mush's turn to laugh.

"What if I eat Mush's dick? I've done plenty of it in the past." Mush laughed and winked at Blink. Spot dramatically sighed again.

"You're really telling your boss about how much you've sucked your best friend's dick? I need to get a friendship like that." He looked out the window and sighed dramatically for the third time. "Where is the Mush to my Blink? Oh, my one true love. Where art thou?"

"Oh my GOD Spot let's leave your sad romance life out of this! Just take a minute to drink in the moment. In seven weeks you'll be married to some bum and locked down into boring king duties for life, but for now you're free. Tomorrow we'll sneak you out of the palace, and we'll go have some fun, just like we did in Brooklyn. We'll live a little. Okay?"

"Okay, Mush. Tomorrow. Once we get there, one of you can explore while the other one stays with me. Stay out of sight. I know I'm not supposed to leave my suite until at least the ball so I don't meet Jack, but you gotta find a way out. There are going to be a few Manhattan servants around, at least one watching me at all times, so the plan is to basically just get me out. We'll be in deep shit when I return, so once you find a way out just let me get out on my own. Claim you need to go into the village for something and I'll leave soon after. Deal?"

"Yeah sure Spotty. One question, did you plan all of your escapes in Brooklyn this meticulously?"

"Some. It was harder if I had gotten caught previously. Why are you just asking me this now, Meyers?" Mush shrugged.

"Just came up now I guess."

"Great. Well, I'm going to sleep. Wake me up when we get there." Spot then promptly fell asleep against the window.

Upon being awoken, the boy uttered quite a few expletives that were responded with a gentle slap. Now fully awake, Spot begrudgingly began the hike up the stairs to the main entrance, Blink and Mush not far behind. 

The Manhattan palace was truly grand, but in a different way from the Brooklyn palace. Where the Brooklyn palace was built of red bricks, hence Brooklyn's national color, the Manhattan palace was built from slate grey stone slabs. The Brooklyn palace was built in the heart of Utica, while the Manhattan Palace was built on a small mountain overlooking Nassau. The details on the Brooklyn Palace were large, simple, and easy to memorize. The details on the Manhattan palace, however, were intricate and there were far too many for Spot to easily notice without getting up close. He could tell it was fairly new, less than forty years old, so the vines growing up the sides if any would be too weak to scale. If he tried hard enough, Spot might be able to scale the walls outside, but it would be difficult. He started climbing the stairs up to the over-decorated front door.

"Spot."

Two steps forward. If he started running now, he might be able to escape and not live the life he was destined to if he stayed.

"Spot." 

Four stairs down, sixteen to go. He could just turn and run. He knew how to fight. He knew how to steal. He could make it on his own. 

"Spot." 

Spot took another few steps forward automatically. If he did manage to escape, he didn't know Manhattan the way he knew Brooklyn. He couldn't make it on his own. He needed someone else.

"Sean." A hand was on his shoulder, a familiar hand. 

Halfway. He needed to find someone who knew the streets of Manhattan. A native. There had to be a servant, or someone who could help him escape.

"Sean Conlon. Snap the fuck out of whatever tangent your brain is going off on now." Spot blinked once to see Mush standing next to him, wearing a slightly concerned look on his face.

"Right. Yes. I'm done. Let's dive headfirst into the hell that is my future." He finished with a weak smile, which Mush reciprocated. Spot took a deep breath and headed further up the stairs.

Once at the top of the stairs, they were greeted by a smiling girl, one who was maybe a little too cheery.

"Hello! Welcome to Manhattan, your Highness. I'm Sarah Jacobs, your lady in waiting until at least the wedding. I'm assuming these are Michael Meyers and Louis Ballatt. I can show you to your rooms now, if you please" Spot gave his best fake smile.

"Lead the way."

Sarah lead the trio down way too many passageways while Spot was trying to memorize the route out of there. Eventually, the four stopped at a set of double doors at the end of the hallway, where Sarah opened one and ushered them inside. 

Inside, there was a king-sized bed draped in way too many blankets and pillows to be suitable for sleeping on, a door leading to a smaller room containing a wardrobe, a door leading off onto a bathroom, and a door leading off into a smaller room for Blink and Mush. There were a few tapestries on the walls depicting some of Brooklyn's greatest victories and greatest former rulers, something Spot wasn't exactly pleased with. That wasn't the reminder of home he wanted. That wasn't the home he knew. The home he knew was the streets, not the castle. He knew hardships, both inside and outside of the castle walls, despite his sheltered upbringing. He knew corruption, not honor.

"Will you be requiring anything else?" 

"No, not right now." Sarah turned and left. Spot turned to Blink and Mush.

"Scout for a bit, then come back in a few hours. Find a way out and into the city. I'll find a way out of here." Blink gave a mock salute then turned and left with Mush. 

The boy turned to the window and gazed out. Upon looking down, he could see there were a few exposed bricks he could scale and a small tree, but it could be too risky. A few of the bricks were loose and could fall if he placed too much weight on them, and the tree wouldn't hold him either. He needed to find another way that didn't involve climbing out of a window freelance. He got too frustrated, so he decided to explore his suite further.

There was a small bookshelf in the closet, one containing some of Spot's favorites. His parents may have sent him away to marry a guy he'd never met, but at least he could re-read the books that gave him comfort. They were worn, so they must've come from the palace library. A fleeting memory of the book keeper passed in Spot's mind. The book keeper looked too young to be working, fourteen at the absolute most. He wondered if he was still working there. Pulling out the most worn book,  _War and Peace_ , he noticed a small inscription on the cover:

" _Jack- Maybe you should stop painting for a bit and read this. I loved it, but nowhere near as much as I love you. Yrs. Forever,"_

The name at the end was smudged, almost intentionally. A forbidden love, one could say, between Spot's fiance and the unknown boy. Maybe it was a one time fling, maybe it was still happening. Spot didn't care. All he wanted out of the marriage was to clean up some of his parents' messes, to improve Brooklyn. He didn't need love from a man who didn't love him. 

He emerged from the closet to find one of the tapestries slightly ajar and an unfamiliar girl standing in the middle of his room.

"Who the fuck are you?" She whipped around to face him, before paling slightly.

"I uh- oh shit- um, I'm Katherine. Pulitzer. I assume you're Sean. I hope you're him, otherwise this is gonna be really awkward. Oh wow, this is already really awkward. I'm just gonna go, I was never here."

"Katherine."

"Yeah?"

"I am Sean, but you got in here without opening the doors. How?"

"I-I um, there's a hidden door behind the tapestry."

"Which one?"

"All of them? One connects this room to the hall, one goes outside, one goes to-shit. I shouldn't be telling you this."

"Well, you did. Thanks. Now which one leads outside?" Katherine stepped closer, getting into Spot's face.

"How do I know you won't tell my father?"

"Oh hello your Majesty, your daughter has been sneaking out through passageways through my room that I know about, that I might be able to escape out of. Does that sound like a conversation I want to have to you?" 

"I suppose not. I'll show you if you answer a few questions."

"Shoot."

"Are you going to come back? Because I can't deal with being held responsible for Brooklyn's heir's disappearance."

"I suppose, for the first few times at least." 

"Okay, well, you accidentally discovered it while exploring your new surroundings. What are you going to do?"

"Explore my new surroundings, I guess. Get in a bit of trouble. Just enough for a good rush. But, today, I suppose I'll scout a little bit first."

"I'm coming with you."

"No you're not."

"Then I guess you'll just have to find it yourself. There are an awful lot of passages, you know. Took me a good year or two to memorize all of them, and that was with a map." 

"Fine. I won't tell anyone you were here. You won't tell anyone I'm leaving for a bit. Let's go."

Katherine flipped back one of the tapestries to reveal a narrow hallway, which she motioned for Spot to follow her down. He blindly followed her into the darkness, putting all of his trust into a woman he met five minutes ago. Eventually, the pair emerged in a small garden with a clearing. Katherine turned to the boy.

"Run. Follow me."

The pair took off and began running, Katherine half dragging Spot due to her longer legs and more experience. About half a mile later, at the base of the mountain, the girl finally slid to a stop, Spot almost crashing into her but catching himself just in time. 

"Welcome to the city of Nassau. I'll meet you here in two hours." She sprinted away, and Spot began trudging into the inner city.

There was a rather large market towards the center of the city, which seemed like the perfect place to steal a little bit of food for lunch, seeing that he didn't think to bring any money. Pulling his hat down over his face, a technique he had well mastered on the streets of Brooklyn, he managed to swipe an apple and half of a baguette, but it was the cheese that got him into trouble. He did get it, but he stopped to take in the view and assess what else he could nab when someone noticed some odd bulges in his shirt and he couldn't think of a lie fast enough, so that lead to a foot chase through the market, Spot knocking over anything he could to get away.

The Manhattan cops must've been a lot more resilient and hell-bent on catching Spot than the Brooklyn cops, because by now Spot was cursing under his breath about how he should've lost them already. He needed an escape, and fast, because he didn't know his way around the city and could very well be headed straight into a trap. He could hear a voice yelling, higher than the rest, but he just kept running, heart pounding in his ears. 

Out of nowhere, when he had turned a corner the police had yet to round, someone tackled him through a small opening in a fence, then turned around and shoved a board over said opening. 

"Who the fuck are you?" The boy turned around.

"Call me Race. And who might you be to get half the bulls chasin' you?"

"Spot."

"Fuck kinda name is Spot?"

"Fuck kind of a name is Race?"

"Fair point, Spotty. What'd ya do?"

"Stole some food. For lunch." Race sauntered a little closer to Spot, tucking a strand of Spot's hair behind his ear. 

"You mean a pretty boy like you don't have a john to pay for ya?"

"Back off, dick. My family has money, I just prefer the thrill of the chase." 

"Calm down, Pretty Boy. Mind if I join ya' for lunch?"

"You're native to Manhattan, I assume?"

"Mostly. What's it to you?"

"I'm from Brooklyn and I don't have any clue where the fuck I am."

"I can tell; I mean you're irrational, obviously you know how to run like hell but you don't know the good hiding spots, and you carry some sense of regality with you. High in command, I suppose?"

"I guess you could say that. Can you maybe tell me where I am now?"

"Oh, you're going to want to stay off of the streets for a bit. Might I join you for lunch now?"

"Only if we can go somewhere besides this forsaken alley."

"Deal. Follow me." Race turned and started walking down the alley, in the opposite way they came.

"I've been doing a lot of following today" Spot murmured to himself, trying desperately to keep up with Race.

The pair emerged from the dark alleyways of the city onto a hill dotted with a few flowers, which Race flopped down onto and dragged Spot down with him, before literally reaching down Spot's pants and pulling out the apple and baguette half, then reaching down Spot's shirt to pull out the cheese. Pulling a small knife out of his own pocket, Race began to cut the apple.

"Are you gonna eat the food that I stole, or are you just going to carve it?"

"I'm planning on eating it, I just like to torture you, Pretty Boy." Race winked at Spot, who laughed.

"I have a name, you know."

"Pretty Boy suits you far better."

"Whatever you say, you pompous fuck." Race leaned in closer to Spot tauntingly. 

"Isn't that a big word for a Brooklyn street rat?" Spot leaned closer to Race, their faces now mere centimeters apart.

"Guess I'm more than just a Brooklyn street rat." Race closed the gap between their faces, setting off every single warning bell in both of their heads, and somehow the kiss mutually deepened. Spot knew he should pull back, as he was engaged to a man he'd never met, but what was the harm in living a little while he could? It's not like he would ever see Race again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ SPOT BITCH YOU THOUGHt
> 
> follow me on tumblr for more dick jokes @moldymilk (my writing blog is @juliawritessometimes hmu )


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy fuck im almost back to writing 1k words a day holyh shit

The night was the night of the over-extravagant ball held in Spot and Jack's honor, and their first meeting. The beginning of the rest of Spot's hellish life. So he was feeling wonderful, per usual.

It didn't help that his mind kept wandering back to Race. They had met once after the kiss, trading a few more details on their personal lives, yet not revealing that he was a royal or engaged, but then Race had seemingly disappeared and Spot stopped leaving the castle because Sarah could only come up with so many excuses for why he was missing. Race had occupied almost every thought that had passed his mind since, the taste of his lips being something burned into his memory. He kept trying to forget Race: the adrenaline rushes, the stolen kisses, the feeling of freedom, the illusion of being in control over his own life for once. He missed it, but he knew it would be hell to see Race again. Which was why he decided it would be best to just go to the damn ball, get married to Jack, and never dream of real love ever again. Simple.

For some reason, he wouldn't be wearing a suit, he would be wearing a dress. Spot wasn't necessarily opposed to it, Manhattan's traditions were just weird and foreign to him. It was a beautiful dress, clearly not designed for a woman, with broader shoulders and a mesh top. The skirt part was a beautiful burgundy, resembling Brooklyn's color, with velvet flowers dancing across the top. According to Sarah, it was made just for him, which meant that if he didn't look amazing, it would be only his fault. 

"Excuse me, Sire, it's almost time for you to stop blankly staring at the dress and wear it."

"That's lovely Sarah, I'll send for you if I need help. How long until I'm announced?" 

"About two hours. The party starts in one." 

"Ugh." 

"I'll come back in a few minutes."

Sarah left, and Spot began to take the dress off of the mannequin while mumbling to himself.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present Sean Conlon, future king of Brooklyn and prince Jack's fiance." Pitching his voice up an octave, he continued his royal mockery "oh, Sean Conlon! Jack's so lucky to be engaged to such a man! Over here, Sean! Let me get a photo, Sean! Fuck!" He yelled in anger. He didn't want that life. He would rather be on the streets, but there was too close of a watch and Manhattan was still too unfamiliar. 

Sighing loudly as he put the dress on, Spot psyched himself up to complete the transition from the Prince of Brooklyn to Jack Pulitzer's fiance. It wouldn't be easy. He just hoped that Jack didn't expect too much out of the marriage except Spot shutting him out.

-

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, prince Sean Conlon, future king of Brooklyn!" Spot stepped out onto the balcony, having never felt more uncomfortable. This was his future, no more Spot, just Sean. All the eyes on him were overbearing, making Spot want to turn and vomit, but he plastered on a fake smile and waved to all of the people who he would soon get to know, forcing himself not to look at them. He could look at their faces later, while dancing with them. 

One of the guards motioned to him to begin his descent down the stairs, which he gladly began, and the crowd began to back up, except for one: Jack.  Everyone would be watching their first dance together, making it even more soul-crushing. Nervously, he walked up to Jack, who was surprisingly handsome for a son of Pulitzer, and put his arm on his shoulder, then grabbed the other one's hand. Jack put his free hand on Spot's waist, and the pair began to dance. Slowly at first, then they picked up the pace as other couples joined in. Then they began to talk.

"So, Sean, how's your stay in Manhattan been?"

"I wouldn't call it just a stay, Jack. I mean, this basically is my home now." Jack laughed at that.

"Our goddamn parents, making you move to another country."

"Our goddamn parents, making us marry each other."

"Good point."

"So tell me a little bit about yourself, or Manhattan for that matter, because that's the reason I'm standing here in a dress."

"It's a tradition, Sean. And what would you like to know about me?"

"Start with the tragic backstory." 

"Well, my mom died giving birth to me and Katherine. Katherine's my sister, by the way."

"Yeah, I've met her."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"So it's just been my dad raising us, or not raising us, if you want to call it that. He hired so many people to take care of us as children, I wouldn't say I had a parental figure in my life. You?" Spot mustered a fake smile.

"Sorry, I don't just give away my tragic backstory. Take me out to dinner first. Or, better yet, convince our parents that we don't need to get married for solitude between our countries."

"So I take it you're not on board with the whole marriage thing?"

"Never have been, never will be. When I had a choice, I would've married for love." Jack sighed.

"This is going to be a challenge." Someone behind Spot cleared his throat.

"Excuse me, Jackie boy, would you mind if I shared a dance with your fiance?"

"Go ahead, Anthony." And suddenly Spot was being twirled around to face a face he didn't want to see, at least not then.

"Race." Anthony, or Race, nodded slightly.

"Spot."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmu on tumblr my main is @moldymilk and my writing blog is @juliawritessometimes


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey look i actually fucking wrote something sorry it took so long. also hmu on tumblr @juliawritessometimes

"Fancy meeting you here, pretty boy." Race and Spot were a little closer than Spot would've liked them to be, but they couldn't risk anyone overhearing their conversation. 

"Racer. Pleasure seeing you here, but may I ask you a question?"

"Ask away, princess." Spot grimaced at the nickname, but the pair continued to dance.

"What the fuck is going on here? I thought you were some dirty street rat-" Race interrupted Spot.

"As did I" Spot stepped on Race's foot as retaliation for interrupting him.

"Oops." Spot smiled a fake smile, and Race's eyes narrowed slightly. 

"Fucker." Spot smiled another fake smile.

"As I was saying, I thought you were just some some street rat that I would never have to see again, but apparently you're the fucking duke. Do you have an explanation for this whole situation?" Race scoffed.

"Well clearly you thought you'd never see me again, 'cause you never told me about your fiance, who just so happens to be my cousin." The other boy made a face.

"You think I actually want to marry that prick? I'm only doing this for Brooklyn. I couldn't give less of a shit about Jack," Spot hissed, the tension between the two rising, "I just wanted to have some fun before I get married off to a man I don't love. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'd rather pretend to love him than spend more time with you." Spot turned to leave, but Race caught his wrist.

"I still have some feelings for you, Conlon. And I despise you for it." Although that was still true for Spot as well, he tried to wrench his wrist out of Race's grip, to which the other boy pulled him back, unforgiving and hard eyes meeting worn yet passionate ones. "Meet me in the library. Midnight. If you want to figure out what we had, and if you don't show I'll leave you alone. But I'll leave at one, so don't waste your time, pretty boy." Spot jerked his wrist out of the other boy's grip, then walked off, telling himself that he wouldn't go. But all throughout dancing the rest of the evening away with Jack, he couldn't keep his mind off Race, so he excused himself to get some sleep. Somehow, instead of his feet carrying him to his quarters, they carried him to the library and his hands pushed open the doors, much to his dismay. 

The boy walked into the library silently, taking in his surroundings. It was something he had made a habit of while back in Brooklyn, just in case he needed to escape quickly. He spotted Race on the balcony, with his nose in some book. 

"Never took you for much of a reader, Racer. If I'm being honest, I didn't think you knew how." The noise startled Race, causing him to jump, but he quickly regained his cool demeanor. 

"What, and you's some kind of reading prodigy? I wasn't born yesterday, pretty boy." Spot let out a little laugh as Race began to begin his descent to where Spot was.

"Well, unlike you, I've been taught since birth, practically. Last time I checked, dukes don't have to learn as much." Race, now just a few feet away from Spot, laughed and put out his hand, which Spot took. 

"I'm not technically the duke, you know. Well, I mean I am, but it's complicated. Point is, I may not know as much about bein' royalty as you do, but I sure as hell know the same amount, if not more, about street smarts." Race began to lead Spot through the endless maze of shelves. "And if the first time we met was any display of street smarts, I have at least thrice the amount as you, pretty boy." Spot stopped and pulled on his wrist, causing Race to stop and turn around to see what was wrong. The taller boy was promptly punched in the face. 

"Here's some news for you, asshat." Spot came closer, now inches away from Race, who was holding his jaw where the other boy had just hit him. "Brooklyn street smarts are different from Manhattan street smarts. And if you had either, you woulda' seen that coming from a mile away." The pair resumed walking, Race still half dragging Spot.

"I- fuck, Spottie, you got me there. But I do got street smarts. I can actually run away from the bulls, unlike you."

"Running away from the cops ain't that big of a problem in Brooklyn. If you got a team, you've beat em. See, it's the kids who are the problem. 'S like there's territories everywhere you go, and someone had to unite them. I want t'see you unite-" Race stopped and cut Spot off.

“Will you shut up for one god damn minute? We’re here.” The boy then moved one book, causing the shelf to move aside, revealing a winding staircase. The pair climbed up the staircase for what seemed like miles, eventually exiting onto a small terrace.

“So this is what you wanted to show me, Tony?” The name felt foreign on his tongue. “A fucking terrace. Once I could see literally anywhere. I gotta say, dipshit, I’m impressed.” Race turned around with an annoyed look.

“This ain’t just any god damn terrace,  _Sean_. This one is hidden from literally every viewpoint and the only way to access it is the way we came.”

“So it’s your secret hidey-hole. I am amazed, personally.” The sarcasm dripping from his words was enough to kill an army. “How’d you even find this place?” The other boy shrugged.

“Spent a lot of time in the library growing up. Made good friends with the old book keeper. He let me do whatever I wanted, which led to me accidentally discovering this. He didn’t know about it, so I didn’t tell him. Then he brought in an apprentice, he died, and the apprentice took over. At twelve, too.” Spot thought back to the kid he had seen while visiting all those years ago. “Dave actually turned out to be pretty cool. Gave me the spare key. Long story short, it was an accident and this is the most private and inconspicuous place in the whole fuckin’ castle. Satisfied?” The blond nodded.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. What did you mean by ‘I’m not technically a duke’ anyway?” Race tensed up, but stepped closer to Spot.

“Why are you asking so many questions, pretty boy?” Spot could feel Race’s breath on his chin.

"I'm not answering that, assface." The boys were inches apart, at most. The shorter boy laughed, his breath tickling Spot's chin once again.

"Assface?"

"Assface. It's called an insult, dumbass." The air had grown thicker with even more tension. Race's eyes were intently fixed on Spot's, and vice versa.

"Shaddup." Spot looked the other boy up and down, his eyes lingering on his lips for just a moment.

"Make me." And Race did. 

The next morning, Racetrack woke up on the roof alone, and Spot didn't leave his room all day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are the reason i get up in the morning


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not dead i'm just sick sorry if this sucks

When Spot wasn't in his bed when Blink and Mush returned from the ball, it concerned the former. But then a very drunk Mush had dragged him into bed, and he gave into his fatigue. Then he was awoken by banging noises coming from Spot's room, he decided to pry himself from Mush's arms and investigate. 

He walked into the room just in time to see Spot fling himself onto the bed, his gown on incorrectly, his hair a mess, his crown missing, his neck adorning a hickey, and his eyes red and puffy. 

"Spot? What the fuck happened?" Spot lifted his head, eyes glistening with tears.

"I fucked up, Blink. That's what happened." Blink sat on the bed, and Spot layed down next to him.

"What did you do?"

"You remember that guy I mentioned once or twice? The street rat fuck buddy I had?"

"Well, yeah, it was Race, right?"

"Yeah. Well it turns out we had the same idea of dressing as street rats, because he's fucking Duke Higgins."

"Oh shit. That's bad. Did you guys fuckin' talk about it?"

"No, I mean, yeah, I mean we were going to fucking talk about it, but then we fucked instead." Blink stifled a laugh, realizing that was how he and Mush dealt with their feelings. They weren't a couple, the just fucked and flirted.

"Damn. Are you ever going to talk about it?"

"I'm going to avoid his ass until I die, Louis."

"Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean, he is your future cousin in law. You's gonna have to do some diplomacy shit together eventually." 

"Can it, Blink. I'm engaged to the prince and I am a prince. I do what I want." 

"Okay, you do you. I'm going the fuck back to bed now." 

Mush woke Blink up the next morning, exclaiming about how Spot needed them to go into the town to buy some "nicer" clothes for the two of them, and Mush held up a impressively sized bag of coins Spot had left for them. It was a horrendous excuse to get the two of them out, but Blink knew he needed the space. And it had been a while since it had been just him and Mush on the stinking streets, regardless of Brooklyn or Manhattan. So, begrudgingly, he got dressed and left with Mush. 

It hadn't been too hard to find a decent tailor in Manhattan, as they were seemingly everywhere. He and Mush walked out of there each sporting a slightly fancy suit, and they had money to spare. In Blink's opinion, Mush looked even hotter in the suit than he did unclothed. There was something about the suit that made him carry himself with more confidence, and it was really messing with Blink's head. He didn't know if he wanted Mush to pin him against a brick wall or to marry him. 

Since they had only spent about a quarter of their money, the pair decided to get some food and books, amongst other things. They had looped around the marketplace once, bought a few things, and had just bought a book for the two of them to share when a boy, no older than fourteen, ran past them, making sure to grab the bag of coins and an apple from Mush's hand and pocket. Blink handed the book to Mush, then sprinted away after the boy, leaving Mush to chase after both of them. 

After falling even farther behind, Mush found the pair in an alley, Blink fuming and pinning the boy against a wall. The boy was trying to put up a fight, but it was no used against Blink's larger figure and years of street fight expertise. Mush watched the boy land a few hits on him, but they did nothing to phase Blink. After a while of the boy trying to escape, Blink became annoyed, and finally hissed at the boy, "Are you done? Because I have places to be." The kid nodded and Mush then noticed that Blink hadn't noticed him staring at the pair. "Alright. I'm gonna let you go, but you're not gonna run, okay? Because if you do run, I'll just run after you. And if you're as old as you look, you've been on the streets a lot less than I have. And these streets're a lot kinder than the ones where I grew up." The kid grew enough courage to speak. As much as he tried to hide it, there was definitely fear in his voice.

"Why's you so tough, huh? 'S it 'cause you have one eye? Pirate." Blink laughed a little bit.

"Do we have a deal or not? Because you can either give the money back and we can talk this out or I can beat the shit out of you and take it back." The kid swallowed and nodded, before sputtering out a weak yes. Blink let the kid go, and the kid slid down the wall while taking the money out of his pocket and handing it to Blink. As Blink checked the bag to make sure the money was still in there, he resumed interrogating the boy. "What's your name, kid?"

"R-Romeo."

"You got a last name?"

"Higgins." Blink remembered Spot mentioning a Higgins, and decided to investigate further.

"Any living relatives?" The kid looked uncomfortable, like he didn't want to talk about his family, but he still answered the question.

"I got a brother. But I don't live with him. He got adopted a while ago and his family didn't want to take in two kids." Blink's gaze softened, remembering when he was that age and running away from the orphanage he spent seven years in.

"Did you run away?" Roeo managed to look even more terrified, so Blink sat down next to him. "I'm not gonna report ya, kid. I just wanna know." 

"Yeah." 

"Why'd you take the money? Besides the obvious feeding and clothing yourself."  Romeo seemed to relax a little more, realizing that Blink knew being a street kid inside and out.

"I got this dream, you see. My friend and me, we're gonna go west. Chicago, actually. We, uh, we want to start doing stage shows. Plays. The two of us, uh, got in trouble with the law here, and we wouldn't be able to buy some property, so we was gonna go open up a theatre down there. Write our own plays 'n stuff. I took the money to help pay for that." Blink stared at the opposing wall for a minute, remembering his dream with Mush. The two of them, at eight and nine years old, had wanted to con their way into being royalty. It didn't matter if they were in Brooklyn or anywhere else, they just wanted to take out a royal family. Or become pirates. They had childish dreams, crushed by the weight of growing up on the streets and the months they had spent in jail. He would never admit it, but hearing Romeo, at thirteen, still holding onto his childhood dream gave him hope. It could get better for him and Mush. Standing up, he took two quarters out of the bag and tossed it to Romeo.

"Keep it, kid. You need it more than I do." He started walking away but Romeo caught his sleeve. 

"You never told me your name. Or why you're helping me." Blink turned around, facing Romeo. 

"Call me whatever you'd like, Romeo. I'm trying not to make a name for myself here. But if you's ever in Brooklyn, ask for Kid Blink." He tried to leave again, but Romeo persisted.

"Why are you helping me then? If you're some notorious criminal in Brooklyn, why help some dirty street rat in Manhattan." Blink smiled to himself.

"Because you remind me of myself about five years ago. But a little more innocent and with a lot worse fighting skills." He turned back to Romeo, still smiling. Jerking his arm out of Romeo's grasp, he turned and started walking away again, this time Romeo letting him. "Come on  _Mushie_ , let's go home." Romeo at first thought he was calling out to nothing, but then another man emerged from the shadows and the pair started whispering to each other while walking side by side. 

-

Alastair Conlon and Joseph Pulitzer sat across from each other in Joseph's study, the air tense. Both men stared at the letter in front of them. 

"Do you really think my spy is lying, fool? I've been told Queens going to Bronx for more support. Their forces are growing rapidly, and their training is becoming more rigorous. We are in danger of invasion." Pulitzer stared intensely at Conlon, trying to find any sign that the fear in his eyes was fake. "Brooklyn's borders close tomorrow. No one outside of my family goes in or out, including servants. Manhattan should follow suit." Joseph, being the stubborn bastard he was, mentally decided that Alastair was weak and he needed to check for the same signs of weakness in Alastair's son. 

"No, Alastair. I won't close Manhattan's borders because I'm not a coward, unlike you." Alastair suddenly stood up, sending a few papers flying. 

"IT IS NOT COWARDICE, PULITZER," he roared, "IT'S BEING SMART ENOUGH TO KNOW WHEN ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. THEY'VE BEEN APPROACHING FOR WEEKS, EVEN MONTHS NOW. THEY KILLED MY DAUGHTER, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE. HAVE YOU NOT ANY RESPECT FOR HER MEMORY?" Alastair stormed out, fuming, and prepared to return to Brooklyn and not come back until the Queens threat was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmu on tumblr @juliawritessometimes


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR FORGETTING ABOUT THIS FIC FOR A FUCKIN MONTH

As the wedding drew nearer and nearer, now only five weeks away, Spot and Jack were forced to spend more time together, and the former hated every minute of it. Over the past week, Spot had learned too much about Jack for his comfort: he was a dreamer, he wanted to get out of Manhattan, he was artist, he was willing to abandon his country to chase a reckless nugget of a dream. A contrast from Spot, who would willingly die for Brooklyn, and hadn’t shared anything about himself that Jack didn’t already know.

 

“Sean, honey, tell me about your dreams,” Jack inquired, not noticing Spot’s worse than usual mood.

 

“No. And just because we’re betrothed doesn’t give you the right to call me honey,” Spot fired back, his tone sharp and pointed. 

 

“Aw, Seanie, don’t give me that shit. Yeah, we’s gonna get married, and we don’t want to, but can we at least try to do something at least a little bit romantic?” Jack pouted from his position on a bench in the gardens, sketching some plants. Spot looked up from his book and glared at him from the tree he was sitting under. 

 

“‘Seanie’ is a no. And so is the romantic shit. Just give it up already, Pulitzer. You ain’t breaking me,” He snapped, growing more defensive by the minute. 

 

“Do you want to be trapped in a loveless marriage for the rest of our lives? Or would you rather at least  _ try _ to be happy?” Jack retorted, closing his sketchbook. 

  
“I’d rather be trapped in a loveless marriage with you than a loving one. Just face it, Jack, it’s- we’re- never going to be romantic. We just have to put on a little bit of a show for the public, then only talk to each other for diplomatic purposes. I’ll see you at dinner tonight,” Spot got up and began to walk away.

 

“Well sorry, princess, that I’m that big of an inconvenience to you. You agreed to marry me, so quit fucking complaining,” Jack called after him. Spot whipped around defensively. 

 

“You think I agreed to marry you because I wanted to love you?” His eyes were dark and filled with anger.  “No, jackass, I agreed to marry you because my parents were guilting me into it. I agreed to marry you because Manhattan and Brooklyn combined could hold off the attacks while Brooklyn alone couldn’t. It was for Brooklyn, asshole, not you,” Spot started to walk off again while Jack sat there with a puzzled expression.

 

“Attacks? Sean, I wasn’t informed about any attacks,” He said cluelessly. 

 

“You didn’t know? Queens has been violating our border agreement. We’ve lost a few soldiers. We couldn’t beat them on our own, so we thought combining Manhattan and Brooklyn would stop. Clearly, it didn’t, as now they’re attacking Manhattan and there’s been rumors of them teaming up with the Bronx. Those attacks,” Spot finished calmly, deciding to sit back down under the tree.

 

“Oh,” Jack said hollowly, eyes displaying how hard he was thinking. 

 

“Yeah. Maybe you should actually talk to your father about it. Oh wait, he’s in complete denial that this is happening,” Spot retorted, taking it as his responsibility to inform Jack in the most passive-aggressive way possible. 

 

“How do you know all of this?” Jack asked, becoming slightly concerned. Spot stared at him blankly.

  
“Your father doesn’t close doors, he’s extremely loud, and your sister showed me a few secret passages,” He responded calmly. 

 

“You’ve been talking to Katherine?” Jack interrogated.

 

“You haven’t?” Spot didn’t look up from his book, “Why wouldn’t I talk to her, Pulitzer. You tell me.” 

 

“Stop calling me Pulitzer. Joe’s not my dad and I’m not a Pulitzer,” Jack sighed, not noticing the way Spot’s eyes glared at him apathetically. “It’s Kelly. Jack Kelly.”

 

“Like I give a shit,  _ Pulitzer _ . Call yourself whatever you want,” Spot dryly said, not caring enough to notice that he himself went by two names. 

 

“Why do you have to be such a dick all the time?” Jack asked as he flopped backwards so he was lying down on the bench, sketchbook laying on his stomach.

 

“Why do you have to ask so many questions?” Spot shot back, getting up to leave, and this time not returning.

 

Three hours later, Spot found himself in the library, browsing through the books. He had read most of them before, a few more than once, so he began to let his mind wander. He first thought about Race, how he was just a quick fuck every now and then and how he needed to put an end to that. He thought about his sister, the one he hadn’t thought about for months. He thought about his home. After about half an hour of thinking while blankly looking at book spines, a voice jolted him out of his mind.

 

“Well if it ain’t his royal highness himself. What brings you here?” Spot immediately recognized the voice as none other than Racetrack Higgins.

 

“Looking for books. What else would I be doing here?” He challenged, not exactly in the mood to talk to Race. But then again, when was he?

 

“Are you sure? ‘Cause you’ve been staring at the same spot on the shelf for quite some time,” Race prodded, clearly receiving the message Spot’s glare was sending but only pressing further.

 

“Do you mind? I’m trying to live out my reign without any scandals, thank you very much,” Spot said defensively. Race smirked cockily.

 

“A little late for that. What’s on your mind, pretty boy?” Race seemed to genuinely care, so Spot dismissed the ‘pretty boy’ and considered his options. Yes, it would be nice to let out just a little bit of his feelings, but could he really trust himself alone with Race, much less Race himself? A few seconds of deliberation passed and Spot finally spoke.

 

“Can we go somewhere more private? Not that I want to fuck right now,” Race nodded, grabbed Spot’s hand, and began to pull him towards the door to his secret terrace.

 

Once they were on the terrace, Spot had a chance to take in the view for the first time. From where he was, he was certain he could see all of Nassau, and the surrounding woods. The houses seemed clustered together, not in the way Brooklyn was, but similar enough. Spot could see the hill where he and Race had first kissed, and it made him feel like he was back there, with nothing else in the world bothering him.

 

“Pretty boy,” Race said, breaking Spot out of his trance. His tone changed, “You miss it, don’t you.” 

 

“Miss what?” Spot asked, oblivious to Race’s implication. 

 

“Brooklyn, you nitwit,” Race said drily. There was a visible shift in Spot’s composure.

 

“Yeah, I do. Not to offend, but I absolutely despise Manhattan,” Spot replied, letting his feelings spill just a little bit.

 

“Tell me about it,” Race sulked, not even attempting to hide his true feelings towards his home.

 

“What’d ‘Hattan ever do to you, Racer?” Spot inquired innocently.

 

“Manhattan gave me a little brother, then chose to give me the better life. Manhattan killed my parents, then gave me shittier ones. Manhattan gave me a fucking crown and a title, and it could give me the world, but I’d still despise it,” He said distantly, starting at nothing in particular.

 

“You’s got a brother?” Spot interrogated, pushing Race’s boundaries, yet Race allowed him to.

 

“Yeah. His name’s Romeo, he’s 13, and he’s living on the streets while I’m living in a palace,” Race shared, somehow trusting the other boy more than he trusted most people.

 

“So you’re not a duke,” He pressed.

 

“I am a duke, but I’m not the duke. The real duke died a few months after my family and the royals kept it hidden by claiming we’s the same person. Nobody’s noticed yet, and nobody’s supposed to know,” Race continued to stare blankly.

 

“Well, if it provides any consolation, I ain’t gonna tell anyone,” Spot provided. Race suddenly looked up, his dark eyes meeting Spot’s light ones challengingly.

 

“What about you, pretty boy, what’s your sob story?” He interrogated, and somehow Spot let him.

 

“I wasn’t supposed to marry Jack. My sister was gonna, but unfortunately, she died and now I’m here. That’s it,” Spot volunteered, looking out over the city again. 

 

“That ain’t it, pretty boy. There’s gotta be more. Why’d you create an alter ego out on the streets? Why do you shut people out? What’s your biggest fear? What are your dreams?” Race asked relentlessly, and even though they weren’t actually related, Spot began to notice the resemblance between Jack and Race.

 

“I don’t have dreams. I shut people out because I don’t want to get hurt. And I got bored so I climbed out of my window and started living a double life. Why do you sound so much like your annoying fuck of a cousin?” Spot fired back.

 

“That’s all you’s gonna tell me?” He asked. Spot nodded. “Then fine. Be a bitch, pretty boy. I wouldn’t recommend calling your fiancé an annoying fuck, by the way. And there’s no way in hell you don’t have dreams,” Race retorted, readopting his “douchebag yet kinda loveable” persona.

 

“So I don’t have dreams. Do you got a problem with that?” Spot asked threateningly. Race, however, refused to back down from a challenge. He was determined to break down the Brooklyn boy’s walls if it was the last thing he did.

 

“Maybe you don’t have dreams now,” He drew out each word so Spot knew what was coming. “But did you have dreams?”

 

“Yeah. But I won’t tell you about them,” Spot responded, having caught onto Race’s game.

 

“Then tell me about something else. Tell me about Brooklyn,” Race persisted. Spot sighed.

 

“What do you want to know?” Spot teased, buying into the other boy’s plan.

 

“Everything,” Race said, noting how the sun was setting. If they stayed there for much longer, they would probably miss dinner, but that would be okay with him. 

 

“Start with one thing, you greedy dick,” Spot said, but there was no menace or chill to his voice. It was light and airy, like he was joking, and like he and Race were just friends as opposed to lovers. This was a different side of Spot, one he liked as much as the others. 

 

“Then tell me your favorite thing, and don’t call me a dick, pretty boy,” Race calmly replied, teasing Spot in return. 

 

“The streets, believe it or not. And the size of it. I fell in love with Brooklyn the minute I snuck out of my window for the first time. I got to experience my home not just as something in a book, but as something new to explore. It- It’s just great, Anthony. You have to be there to experience the magic,” Spot rambled, with Race hanging onto his every word. There was something about the way that the setting sun was hitting his golden locks, and the passion in his voice, that drove him crazy. “Who knows, though. Maybe it was the sense of- Race? Are you listening?” He questioned, and Race took that as an opportunity to interrupt his spiel by pressing their lips together. 

 

This kiss was something new to both of them because, unlike their previous ones, it was passionate, but wasn’t fueled by lust as well. It was foreign, yet something they both enjoyed. The only thing comparable to it was the feeling of home and belonging, like it had been destined all along, something they could get used to. Simultaneously, they both realized how completely and utterly fucked they were, and Race pulled away. 

 

“Something wrong, Racey?” Spot cockily asked, raising one eyebrow. 

 

“You’re so cute when you get excited about something,” Race admitted. Spot, caught off guard, felt a slight blush spread across his cheeks.

 

“Shut the fuck up, prick,” He laughed out, his eyes full of wonder and youth for the first time since he and Race had met.

 

“Shit. We’re missing dinner, Spot. We gotta go,” Race realized, while Spot looked unamused.

 

“Dinner’s boring. All it is is just listening to my father fight with Jack’s while he tries to connect with me romantically. I’d rather just stay here and talk with you,” Spot complained. 

 

“Well, I’m flattered, but I’m also hungry. So I’m leaving. You coming?” He asked, caring genuinely about whether the other was coming.

 

“No. I’ll just stay here and enjoy the view for a little bit. If anyone asks, come up with a decent lie. You were on the streets, I’m sure you know how,” Spot teased, looking off into the distance again. A hand touched his lower back gently.

 

“C’mon pretty boy, you gotta eat something,” Race persisted.

 

“I’ll steal something from the kitchens later. Just go, Higgins,” Spot said, hinting that he needed to be alone for just a little bit. Race, fortunately, got the hint, and left, nodding as a goodbye. 

 

Without Race to distract him, Spot began to think. His thoughts started calm, but became nauseating as he kept thinking. As soon as Race had left, his brain had been replaying that last kiss non-stop, and it didn’t help anything related to the tangled mess of Spot’s feelings. 

 

For starters, he didn’t know  _ what _ he and Race were. Yeah, they fucked some times, and they insulted each other, but after that one seemingly normal conversation, Spot thought they could be more. As far as he could tell, everything would work out between them. His father would finally come to his senses and break off Spot and Jack’s marriage, he would move back to Brooklyn and take Race with them, the attacks would stop and everything would be perfect, forever. 

 

Spot took a moment to revel in his daydream before realizing that there was a slim chance of it actually happening. He and Race would fuck for a while, but he would have to end it before the wedding. Race was his guilty pleasure,  but one that could potentially cause a revolution that they didn’t need. Mentally, he decided that he needed to break it off in the week before the wedding. He may have not loved his future husband, but he could at least have the decency not to fuck his cousin.

 

The thought of his future husband made Spot want to light himself on fire. Not that Jack was a bad guy, that was the opposite of the case, it was that Jack just didn’t seem right for him. Jack pushed too hard in the places where Spot didn’t want to be pushed and talked too much for his own good. He could’ve sworn that Jack’s big mouth would get him killed one day. It was just no matter what Jack did, unless he went through some major personality changes, there was no way Spot could come to think of him as more than an acquaintance, much less a lover.

 

Slumping against a wall, Spot listened to the sounds of the city and the castle beneath him for hours, wondering how he would find ways to fix all of his problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come yell at me for not writing on tumblr @ juliawritessometimes


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually updated it more than once this month what kind of Bullshit is this

Breaking off his relationship with Race was proving to be harder than Spot originally thought. After the night on the roof, the time he spent with the other boy began to mean more to him, which was exactly what Spot needed at the time. More and more nights were spent drawn away on their private terrace, some spent discussing current events and their problems, some spent in comfortable silence with arms wrapped around each other, others, if not most, spent with lips connected and bodies pressed against the other. As time drew by, Spot could feel himself becoming attached to Race, but still, no emotional connection to anyone could prevent the wedding happening when it was only a week away, and Spot had already made up his mind. 

 

Spot paced on his and Race’s ‘private’ terrace, waiting for him to arrive, his mind wandered down a road he was trying to avoid. It started to replay how happy he and Race were, and all of the ways they could make their arrangement work. Shaking his head, he began to go over what he was going to say in his mind. If he was too kind, he wouldn’t be able to do it. If he was too harsh, his future cousin in law might never speak to him again. If he started crying, Race would know exactly just how Spot felt and would try to get him to stay. He internally kicked himself for getting himself into this mess without a clear plan out of it. 

 

Race hesitated at the doors to the library, beginning to get a little worried. Normally, when Spot asked him to meet him, he did it himself. But that time, one of Spot’s servants- was he really his servant? Spot didn’t treat him like one- had knocked on his door, mildly bewildered, telling him that Spot had needed to see him in their spot immediately. Pushing past his emotions, he cautiously opened the door and began his trek to the terrace.

 

The future king of Brooklyn was interrupted from his thoughts by Race’s footsteps. In that moment of panic, his mind defaulted to his usual emotionless facade. “Spot?” Race called out.   
  


“Over here, Racer,” Spot replied, turning away and looking out at the view. He remembered the first night Race had shown him the terrace, when it had been too dark to see past a few feet, back when Race was just supposed to be someone he would fuck once or twice, before that had all gone to shit.

 

“You okay, pretty boy? That one eyed guy told me you were up here,” He asked cautiously. 

 

“Blink. And it depends,” Spot admitted, turning away from the other boy. 

 

“Depends on what?” Race questioned, genuinely concerned. He began to worry that one of his worst fears about to come true that he would lose another person close to him.

  
“You,” Spot said, turning so he was looking Race dead in the eyes, trying to hide the mix of fear and anxiety in his, “I can’t do this anymore.” 

 

“Do what?” The duke prodded. 

 

“This!” Spot burst out, gesturing between himself and Race, “Whatever we had, it’s over,” He said, putting up his walls as he watched the other boy go through a plethora of emotions. Race’s face twisted as he went through a range of emotions, settling on a mixture of shock and anger. 

 

“It’s over?” He asked fearfully.

 

“Yes,” Spot responded, face remaining stoic as ever.

 

“Jesus, Spot-Sean- I mean, fuck, this is over! This is really it, isn’t it?” Race half laughed and half cried out.

 

“Yeah, Anthony, this is it. There’s nothing between us anymore,” He said, overly calm and collected.

 

“Did it mean anything to you? Anything at all? Because you’re way too held together for this shit. Did you ever care- about me, about this, about  _ us _ ?” Race questioned. When Spot didn’t reply, after a minute, he continued, “So everything that we did. All the late night talks, all the stolen kisses, it all meant  _ nothing _ to you?” He yelled, masking the fact that all he wanted to do was cry.

  
“It meant something, Anthony, but believe it or not, I actually have duties. You’re not my number one priority, asshole, Brooklyn is. And if that means marrying Jack and ending things with you, then so be it,” The prince said calmly. 

 

“God, Spot, you’re unbelieveable. You complain about having to marry him, you complain about how much you hate the shit you have to do, you talk about how nice it would be if the two of us could actually be together, but then you dump me, for what? For your ‘duties’? For  _ Brooklyn _ ?” Race fired back, pausing for a moment, “We both know that’s bullshit.”

 

“It’s not bullshit. Brooklyn is the one thing that’s had my back no matter what. I know every corner, every turn, every nook and cranny. Brooklyn isn’t just my country or my duty, Anthony, it’s part of who I am,” Spot replied, beginning to lose his grip on his emotions. 

  
“Oh, but it is bullshit. Brooklyn is Brooklyn, and you are  _ you _ . Stop using your shitty country as an excuse to be a dick. But you know what else is bullshit? You. You’re bullshit. You sit there, pretending not to care, acting like the stoic future king you always were. You care, though. You care and I know because you’ve come to me, crying, many times, because one little thing went wrong. God, Sean, can’t you be a rational human being for once?” Race yelled. A single tear rolled down Spot’s face, “Actually, don’t be. Because you’re just like everyone else. You make me care about you, you make me think you care about me. And then you leave. This isn’t the first time this has happened, but it’s the last. Because we’re nothing now. We’re going back to the way things were before I saved your ass from the bulls. I don’t care about you, you don’t care about me. We’re just cousins in law who never did anything together. Have a good day, your highness,” Race finished, and left. Spot slide down the wall and began to cry, genuine broken down tears, the first of many. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yell at me on tungle dot hell @juliawritessometimes


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope your seatbelts are buckled motherfuckers bc this is one Wild ride of a chapter (tw for slight kidnapping)

On the day of the dreaded wedding, Spot found himself missing Race more and more with each minute. He had been going about his usual recently turned emotionless routine when part of his brain chose to make him spend five minutes imagining it was Race he would be walking down the aisle towards that night, not Jack. So his wedding day was going absolutely fucking great.

 

As he paced around his room, the first of a few familiar faces greeted him. The faces belonged to Blink and Mush, his old friends from Brooklyn who made the journey with him.

 

“Hey, old buddy old pal old friend-o,” Blink half sang, trying his best to act normal.

 

“Hey, Blink. Cut the shit,” Spot greeted in return.

 

“Sorry,  _ your highness,  _ but I just want to say how proud I am,” He wiped away a fake tear, “that my son is getting married. Oh my baby boy, I remember when you were just yay high and you were waddling around. And then when you turned 13 and decided you were too good for your mom and dad, and then-” Blink’s spiel was cut off abruptly by Mush.

 

“What he’s trying to say is that he’s proud of you, which he’s not, because both of us agree that you shouldn’t be marrying Jack, but you’ve done nothing to protest it except being a dick to literally everyone you’ve come within five feet of,” Mush said in one breath.

 

“Wow, Mushie, way to make a guy feel good on his wedding day,” Spot said sarcastically. Blink frowned.

 

“Actually though, Mush is right. Before we left, you wouldn’t shut the fuck up about your plans to run away or stop the wedding or some shit, but guess what? We’re at your wedding. And you’re going through with this,” He threw out.

 

“I bet it’s the Racer. Either a ‘fuck you’ or he got some kind of deal with Jack where they can do other people on the side. I know that’s the reason he didn’t want to leave,” Mush pointed out, the mood of the room quickly deteriorating.

 

“Alright, alright, it’s fucking Race. I didn’t leave ‘cause of him, and I’m only marrying his cousin as a ‘fuck you’ to him. You got me all figured out,” Spot said sarcastically before another familiar face ushered them out. Katherine poked her head in, proceeding to let herself into the room without asking.

 

“So how's my future brother in law doing?” She asked.

 

“Not good,” He replied.

 

“Lemme guess: it’s because you don’t love Jack.” His silence confirmed her guess, “Hon, listen to me. I know you don’t, he thinks you don’t, but the people think you do. So you just put on a show for them. Besides, I’m pretty sure he’s been flirting with the bookkeeper,” Katherine said.

 

“Thanks, Kath. What would I have ever done without you?” Spot questioned, wrapping his arms around her in a hug.

 

“For starters, you probably would’ve never fucked my cousin,” The princess retorted. Spot pulled away.

 

“Shit, Katherine, how did you know?” Spot interrogated, praying that she hadn’t told anyone.

 

“The walls have ears. I am those ears. Also you need to learn how to fucking shut doors,” she said, “But don’t worry, I haven’t told anyone- I won’t tell anyone.”

 

“Thanks, Katherine, you’re a real life saver, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave because Sarah’s at the door and she probably wants to make sure I look presentable before my father comes in,” Spot rambled, ushering her out the door. Sarah shuffled in, smoothing a few wrinkles in Spot’s suit, then leaving and letting Alastair in.

 

“Son,” Alastair announced as he pridefully strode into the room.

 

“Father,” Spot replied, anxiously tugging at his collar.

 

“I’m proud of you, Sean, for actually going through with this. I thought for sure you would’ve found a way to argue your way out of your marriage, but it looks like you’ve finally set your sights on what’s right,” the king said, his words genuine for once.

 

“Anything for Brooklyn,” Spot responded coldly, putting on the stone cold exterior he had worn so many times before. Alastair rested his hand on his son’s shoulder for a minute before pulling away. He nodded, then not quite knowing what to say, left the room. Sarah returned a few moments later, helping Spot fix his suit before ushering him out onto the aisle, where he was left to strut down alone.

 

The wedding venue was the main hall of the Manhattan castle, but decorated in a slightly more Brooklyn fashion. The arched windows were left uncovered, and everything in the room seemed to have some aspect of red or gold embellishments on it. It was, to put it in one word, magnificent. Jack stood at the end of the aisle, hands folded in anticipation, waiting for his fiancé to come walking down the aisle. The rows upon rows of people come to witness the union of Manhattan and Brooklyn’s princes in a royal wedding seemed to close in on Spot, but he took a deep breath and began walking. 

 

When he reached the end of the aisle, he finally looked out at the sea of people, searching for a certain one: Race. Eventually, he found him just as the minister finished reading Jack’s part of the vows.

 

“... Do you, Jack Edward Pulitzer, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” The minister read aloud.

 

“I do,” Answered Jack confidently, looking directly into Spot’s eyes.

 

“And do you, Sean Nicholas Conlon, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” He droned on. Spot swallowed, accepting his fate, reality finally setting in.

 

“I-” The future king was cut off by a resounding crash from the other end of the hall, where Spot had been standing just minutes before. Heads swiveled to look, finding a group of armed Bronx soldiers standing there, prepared to fight. Spot muttered an expletive before a butler ran towards him and Jack, trying to usher them to safety. 

 

Spot caught sight of Race dodging in between their attackers, headed towards an exit. A soldier followed him out, causing Spot to do what he did best: act impulsively. He tore away from the butler, Jack voluntarily trailing behind him, and began running after his ex lover to warn him.

 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jack yelled, managing to keep up with Spot.

 

“I have to find Race!” Spot yelled in return, not checking to see if Jack was following him. His fiancé couldn’t have mattered less to him in that moment, all that mattered was making sure the one person who made him feel alive was safe.

 

The pair, albeit Jack’s clumsy nature, wrangled their way out of the main hall and into a side hall, not stopping for anything. Jack, still not questioning Spot’s true motives, trailed along, hoping that the pair could find a way out.

 

Race watched as Spot and his cousin burst into the hall he was hiding in, the former’s head whipping around wildly, searching. Their eyes locked for a minute before Bronx soldiers they hadn’t known were following them slunk into the hall behind them. Instinctively, Race crouched back into the shadows, out of the view of the soldiers. Spot, confused, didn’t notice they were there until something hit his head.

 

Everything went dark. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ple as yell at me on tungle dot hell @juliawritessometimes


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas guys heres a less angsty chapter

Race, from his hidden position, watched in horror as his cousin and what he presumed to be the love of his life were knocked unconscious and dragged away by Bronx soldiers, covering his mouth with his hand to stifle a scream. He knew what the Bronx was capable of, and he knew it wasn’t good. Silently, he promised himself that he would safely rescue Spot, and Jack, before anything else could happen to them.

 

He made good on the promise a few hours later, when the Bronx soldiers had seemingly collected all they wanted and vacated the Manhattan palace. Crawling out of his hiding place, he searched for any signs of life that he could trust, and eventually he found the bookkeeper.

 

“Hey. You. Library guy,” he stage whispered across the dimly lit hall. The librarian turned around, shocked.

 

“Duke Anthony?” he whispered back.

 

“Yeah. Come here,” Race said and motioned at the same time, hoping that the librarian would understand that it was urgent, which he did, as he ran towards Race.

 

“Did- have you seen anyone else?” The bookkeeper asked, his face no longer boring and old, but young and frightened. Race ignored his question.

 

“They got Sean and Jack. They ain’t dead- I think- but we gotta do something,” Race said, “What’s your name, kid?”

 

“David. And I’m not a kid, I’m 17,” David replied.

 

“How many people do you know that can fight?” Race questioned.

 

“A few. But you’re not thinking of-”

 

“I am exactly thinking of sneaking into the Bronx palace. But we need an army. And I’m assuming most of the guard is dead or unable to fight. We’re in luck, though, ‘cause I’m friends with a bunch of street kids who have nothing to lose,” he plotted as David looked on with a simultaneously horrified and excited expression. 

 

“We should see if there are any other survivors here. I was talking with one of Sean’s servants the other day, and they’re street kids from Brooklyn. If we can find them, they could get Brooklyn on our side,” David planned. Race broke into a smile.

 

“Let’s go, then.”

 

The duo ended up with a small group of survivors, consisting of Blink, Mush, Katherine, Sarah, and four servants that Race had surprisingly never met. Of course, they had run into other people while searching, but they had chosen to return to their homes rather than join the crusade. Katherine was nearly in shock because her entire immediate family had been captured, Sarah had an arm around her and was trying to comfort her, Blink was holding Mush up because he had twisted his ankle while running, one of the servants hadn’t said anything, one was trying to patch up his few cuts, and the other two were near tears and clutching onto each other desperately. It wasn’t a great start, but it was still a start.

 

“Alright, how many of you know street kids? The kind that’s willing to get dirty and into fights?” Race asked gently. Almost everyone raised their hands, save for Sarah and Davey. Race pointed at the servant who was trying to patch up her cuts. “You, what’s your name?”

 

“Smalls,” she answered, her eyes full of fear but also determined.

 

“You and,” Race looked around, settling on the girl next to her who hadn’t said anything, “her. What’s her name?”

 

“Sniper. She doesn’t like to talk, but I can understand her. And since I’m assuming you don’t know them, they’re Boots and Tumbler,” Smalls said sarcastically, patting Sniper gently.

 

“Okay, you two can go find your street rat gang together. Once Boots and Tumbler collect themselves, they’ll be a pair. I’m assuming Blink and Mush will be going to Brooklyn, and that’s on the way to the Bronx, so we’ll leave for there tomorrow as a group. Blink will go with me, Mush will go with Katherine, and Davey and Sarah will stay here and gather supplies,” Race decided, his mind going a mile a minute. 

 

“‘Scuse me, Tony, but Boots and Tumbs’ hang out with the same ‘rats’ that Snipes and I do. They’re staying here and getting their shit together,” Smalls argued, Race nodding.

 

“Okay, Smalls. Don’t call me Tony, though,” he replied.

 

“What should I call you, Tony? Last time I checked the monarchy’s fallin’ and we ain’t callin’ you your highness,” Smalls fired back, a grin spreading across Race’s face.

 

“Call me Race. Blink, let’s go. We’ll meet back here when we’re done,” Race said, dragging Blink out of the room with him. The pair walked in silence for what seemed like years, but they had only made it out of the palace. Blink broke the silence.

 

“He loved you, you know,” he began, looking down and kicking a rock, “He loved you ‘cause you were the first person to actually care and show it. Mush and me- well we care, but we ain’t good at feelings. I could tell, An- Race. He loved you when he was listenin’ to Jack’s vows. An’ he loved you when he was gettin’ dragged off. He loved you, Race. He may have been a dick ‘cause he didn’t know how to tell you he wasn’t gonna cheat on Jack, but he loved you all the same,” Blink finished, a tear rolling down his cheek. He brushed it away and took a deep breath. 

 

“Stop saying loved, Blink. He’s not dead,” Race solemnly said.

 

“If he is-” Blink sniffled, “-I’ll make sure you join him. He’s like my brother. He’s not like- he  _ is _ my brother. We’re Brooklyn, and Brooklyn sticks together. Until the end,” The rest of the walk was silent. 

 

Eventually, the pair arrived in an alleyway, where Race knocked on one of the walls three times, a calculated time in between his knocks. A small boy popped out, one Blink recognized. 

 

“You’re the little shit who tried to rob me,” Blink laughed, “Spend those fifty cents yet?”

 

“Blink, how the fuck do you know my brother?” Race questioned.

 

“Oh, so it’s  _ that _ Higgins. Long story short, he tried to rob me. Teach your brother to steal better. Or how to run away,” Blink hadn’t stopped laughing.

 

“Or maybe he should teach me how to get into the royal family,” Romeo interjected, laughing as well, “It’s the only thing he’s actually done in his life.” Laughter echoed off the alley walls, most likely waking at least one person. Race stood there awkwardly, waiting for it to die down before stating his case. 

 

“We need your help. The princes got kidnapped, I’m kinda in love with Prince Sean, and we’re going to the Bronx to get them back. But we need an army, and that’s where you and your friends come in,” he pleaded, looking Romeo directly in the eyes. 

 

“You want a group of twelve to fifteen year olds to help you with something that could get you killed. That could get all of us killed?” Romeo questioned. “I’m in, dumbass.”

 

“Watch your fuckin’ language, kid,” Blink cut in.

 

“What are you gonna do about it, pirate?” Romeo shot back jokingly. 

 

“Just ‘cause you’re young and you feel invincible doesn’t mean you are invincible, Ro. Don’t go picking fights with people like Blink. You could get killed,” Race half joked. 

-

A day later, their gang had grown considerably.  Seven new members had joined thanks to Smalls and Sniper: Swifty, Skittery, Bumlets, Albert, Elmer, Snitch, and Itey. Romeo had brought Specs, and Katherine had managed to convince Darcy Reid to join them. Due to Race’s true reason for assembling the team, they couldn’t have actual knights, but they would find a way to fight through. They just had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Yell At Me On Tung Dot Hell @juliawritessometimes


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's 1 am but i Finished this and i Swear it will get mildly better

Spot awoke to a pounding pain in his head and a soreness all over his body, yet he didn’t open his eyes. At first, he thought he was hungover, but then the memories came flooding back to him.

_ The wedding.  _

_ The Bronx showing up. _

_ Chasing after Race. _

He slowly opened his eyes, realizing that he was in a dungeon, presumably underground, and he was leaning against another person.

_ The frightened look in Race’s eyes when they last made contact. _

_ Race. _

But it couldn’t have been Race, right? Race hadn’t been captured while Spot was still conscious. He let out a silent whisper, hoping that it really hadn’t been Race who he had been leaning on.

_ Where was Race? _

_ Was Race even- _

No. He wouldn’t let himself think about that. As far as Spot knew, what mattered was that he was alive and that he was pretty sure he could still walk. As his eyes focused, he took in his surroundings. Spot was indeed in an underground dungeon. There was a window high on the wall where light streamed in, some of it interrupted by the thick iron bars on the window. On the other side of Spot, the side where the person he didn’t dare to look at was, he could see an iron cell door, and just beyond that, a small open space where the walls were lined with other cells. He could see other people in those cells, and began to wonder who they might be. 

_ Blink and Mush. Katherine. Sarah. Jack. His siblings. His parents.  _

As Spot moved to try and get a better look, the person he was leaning on shifted. 

“Mmm?” the person mumbled, Spot immediately recognizing the voice as Jack.

 

“Jacky boy,” Spot said blandly, trying to seem like he wasn’t freaking out.

 

“Conlon,” Jack smiled weakly, their eyes meeting. “You’re finally awake.”

 

“How are we gonna get out of here?” Spot prodded, Jack’s face growing grim.

 

“We’re not. They’ve- people have tried. There’s no way out, not unless someone with a key lets you out.” The stone wall against Spot’s back became more unforgiving. 

 

“We’ll find a way, Jack. We gotta,” Spot pleaded.

 

“No, Sean. There’s no way out. At all. I mean, there is one, but it ain’t good,” Jack said.

 

“What?”

 

“I’ve heard the guards talk about, uh, execution. For the royals. For us.” Spot felt his throat grow tight and his muscles tense.

_ He wouldn’t see Race again. _

_ He wouldn’t see Blink or Mush or Sarah or Katherine or anyone from his family alive again. _

_ He wouldn’t get to tell Race how he felt. _

_ But did Race care? _

“If I die for Brooklyn, then I die with honor,” Spot solemnly said. Dying for Brooklyn was how he had planned to go, either that or dying an old man, but it had never seemed real. It was always a fantasy, one of dying like a martyr and being remembered as a savior. 

_ But it’s not a fantasy. _

_ It’s real life. _

“What about Race?” Jack interrogated. “Would you call dying for him dying with honor?”

 

“Yes.” Spot nodded without hesitation. “But why do you care?”

 

“I don’t know, maybe he’s the reason we’re in this shitty hole in the first place?” Jack retorted bluntly. “Maybe because you seem to be so in love with him that you’d die for him? When I’m your husban-” Spot cut him off.

 

“We are not married. We never finished our vows. So we’re just engaged. And since our engagement landed us in this shit hole, I’m calling it off,” Spot said, shifting away from Jack.

 

“You can’t do that,” Jack defended.

 

“Yeah, I can. What are you going to do about it?” Spot sneered, trying to hide how broken down he was at their grim situation. “If I’m going to die, I refuse to do it engaged to someone I don’t love.”

 

“So you’d die engaged to Race, is that what you’re telling me?” he shot. Spot’s expression shifted to one Jack couldn’t quite place.

_ If he was engaged to Race he wouldn’t be in a dungeon awaiting death. _

_ If he was engaged to Race he would be happy.  _

_ But he’s not engaged to Race. _

_ And he’s not happy. _

_ He was engaged to Jack, and now he’s going to die without seeing Race again.  _   
  


“Yes,” Spot said quietly, “Why do you keep bringing him up?”

 

“You just had to make sure he was safe, and then while you were chasing him, we got caught. So I just wanna know who he is, and why you love him so much,” Jack’s jaw clenched. Spot was unable to pinpoint his emotion. 

 

“You really wanna know?” Spot questioned.

 

“Yes,” Jack replied.

 

“I suppose you can’t tell anyone if we’re going to die anyways, so here goes. Race is your cousin. Race is Duke Anthony,” Spot admitted, his face becoming stone cold. 

 

“Race is- Race is my cousin? You’re in love with my cousin. God, you’ve had an affair with my cousin. Jesus fucking christ.” Jack rested his head in his hands. 

 

“Yeah,” Spot said, just to fill the air. 

 

“But why?”

 

“Race- well, Race makes me feel free. When I’m with him, I just feel like I’m not a prince and I have no responsibilities and nothing matters except the two of us.” Spot sighed, failing to notice the range of emotions dashing across Jack’s face. 

_ But he fucked it up. _

_ Spot fucked it up and the one person who made him truly happy was gone. _

_ The person he loved hated him. _

_ Race hated him.  _

_ Race hated him. Race hated him. Race hated him. Race- _

Spot was jolted from his thoughts by Jack saying something he didn’t catch.

 

“What?”

 

“I said I’m a lot less angry than I thought I would be,” Jack said.

 

“Yeah, you’s a lot less angry than I thought you would be, too,” Spot calmly replied.

 

“I think it’s more that I know you love him and you don’t love me, and you just- you seem happy when you talk about him. Even if it was just for a minute, that’s the happiest I’ve ever seen you. And you deserve to be happy, Sean,” Jack rambled, finally noticing Spot’s somewhat softer face looking back at him. 

 

“Thanks, Jacky boy. You deserve to be happy too. Who knows, maybe someday you’ll find someone who makes you feel the same way I feel about Race.”

 

“Yeah, who knows.” Jack shrugged. 

 

“You will, Jacky,” Spot said, leaning back into Jack’s side. 

 

“Thanks, Sean,” Jack replied, throwing an arm around Spot. There was nothing romantic about the situation, no hard feelings. Nothing existed between them except a newfound truce, and fear. Fear encompassed both of them, but it was fuel enough to keep them going.

 

“Call me Spot. If we live through this, I’ll explain it.” 

_ Spot was okay.  _

_ For now. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yell At me On Tungle Dot Heck Dot Edu @juliawritessometimes


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a Certified Mess woo

Jojo Conlon thought that she had too much responsibility on her hands. Yes, she was used to caring for a few people, albeit mostly in practice, but never a whole kingdom. Alone. Unsupervised. At 14. Of course, there were a few advisors and a handful of people who knew what they were doing, but she had too much pride to admit to being unsure. 

 

A knock on one of the door to her suite startled her out of her thoughts. She begrudgingly stood up and opened it, shocked to see one of her brother’s servants standing on the other side, appearing dead tired but also filled with vengeance. 

 

“Can I help you?” Jojo deadpanned. Blink hadn’t met her before, but he immediately noted the similarities between the two siblings.

 

“It’s about Sp- Sean,” Blink began, only to be cut off.

 

“Yeah, no shit. What’s your name?” she questioned.

 

“Blink. Or Louis. Doesn’t matter. Actually, it does, I prefer Blink. But Sean got kidnapped by the Bronx and we need some help getting him out,” Blink rambled. Jojo raised one of her eyebrows.

 

“Why? Can’t you just get your friends to help you?” 

 

“We’re trying, but we need more help than that,” Blink pleaded.

 

“Why should I trust you? We’ve never talked before this and I’m not about to risk things unless I get something in return,” Jojo countered.

 

“Maybe you should trust me because I went to Manhattan with your brother. And we can’t give you anything except your brother back,” he said.

 

“I want to talk to someone I’ve met before. Then we talk and I’ll consider it.”

 

Five minutes later, Katherine and Jojo locked themselves in the latter’s study, attempting at a civilized discussion. “I know you’re just a kid, and that this is a lot, but please. Do it for Sean,” Katherine begged. “They got my brother, too.”

 

“You think this is just ‘a lot’?” Jojo challenged. “I’m trying to run a kingdom alone at 14 ‘cause my idiot brother apparently got himself kidnapped, and my parents are missing, so as far as I’m concerned I’m currently the sole possessor of the throne. And now Manhattan’s crumbling, and all the remaining Manhattan royalty just abandoned it, so now it’s my responsibility to deal with that. God, do you people think about anything except for yourselves?” she paused. “I get that your brother is important, but really, Katherine? However, I will help you. But unlike you dumbasses, I’m not leaving my kingdom unattended.”

 

“Thank you, Jojo. And frankly, there was nothing left to defend. Manhattan, well, Manhattan has fallen. If I had stayed, I most likely wouldn’t have survived,” Katherine pointed out, the two emerging to the room where Blink, Smalls, Sniper, Darcy, Specs, and Romeo sat.

 

“So what do you guys need me to do?” Smalls and Sniper exchanged a look, communicating wordlessly.

 

“What ya need to do is be bait,” Smalls stated bluntly, Jojo staring back with a stare that rivaled hers.

 

“I’m assuming it’s because I’m a royal. Why couldn’t you just have Katherine do it?” Jojo countered. Smalls looked back at Sniper, the latter’s hands moving furiously to get her point across.

 

“Snipes says it’s ‘cause Katherine’s s’posed to be dead. At least accordin’ to the Bronx, she is,” Smalls smiled.

 

“Okay, so let’s say I agree to be your bait. That means I’d have to leave, because there’s no way that you’re drawing the Bronx into here.”

 

“Yeah, that was our plan,” Blink cut in.

 

“Who’s going to watch over Brooklyn while I’m gone? I’m the only Conlon left, considering Sean’s off in the Bronx and my parents are just missing in general,” Jojo said, trying not to display how worried she was. Smalls and Sniper exchanged yet another glance, this one because they were worried they couldn’t convince Jojo to help them.

 

“Smalls and Sniper could,” Blink suggested. Sniper began frantically signing to Smalls, Jojo staring at the pair intensely for a moment.

 

“If I read what those two were signing correctly,” Jojo motioned to where Smalls and Sniper were sitting, “Then they’re your most valuable allies in this rescue mission. They’re from the Bronx. They know their way around. Why don’t you stay?” she countered, seething. 

 

“‘Cause I can fight,” Blink responded calmly.

 

“What, and they can’t? What about me. I can’t fight physically, does that mean I should stay behind? They’re equally as important, if not more important, than I am. Besides, you being able to fight doesn’t make you inherently better than the rest of us. You’re conceited and imperceptive. Tell me, Louis, what you are risking that none of us are?” Jojo accused. Her voice and stature radiated power, her eyes were hard and challenging, just as Spot’s had been many times. 

 

“I’m risking my life,” he finally replied. Jojo grimaced. 

 

“We’s all risking our lives,” Smalls interjected. Jojo smiled at her, causing her to attempt at hiding her blush in Sniper’s shoulder. 

 

“I’m also risking Mush,” Blink pointed out.

 

“Another human isn’t yours to risk. You don’t control his life. So, Louis, why shouldn’t we leave you behind again?” Jojo smirked. 

 

“Because I don’t know shit about runnin’ a kingdom,” Blink looked towards the floor.

 

“Thank you for finally providing a valid reason. Now, who’s going to stay behind?”

 

“How ‘bout you?” Smalls suggested. Jojo whipped around.

 

“What?”

 

“Well, you’s mentioned that you can’t fight, and someone needs to watch Brooklyn, so you stay here and I dress up as you.” Jojo frowned, considering. 

 

“Fine. I mean, the only person who’ll genuinely notice that you’re not me is my brother.”

 

A day later, Smalls was fully dressed in Jojo’s clothes, and had a note from Jojo to Spot tucked safely away. Somehow, transforming from a street kid to a fake princess had been an almost liberating experience, despite the looming anxiety of their plan failing. Mush had arrived at the castle with some Brooklyn kids who were willing to join the crusade, and the plan had been spread to them. Sniper had agreed to stay behind, as she had always preferred to fight mentally rather than physically, and in that short day she had learned to trust Jojo as much as she trusted Smalls. The three had an undeniable bond, one almost alike Spot and Race’s.

 

Just before the rescue mission left for the Bronx, the ones leaving were saying their goodbyes, which meant Smalls and Sniper were sharing a tearful goodbye. Once Smalls finally managed to drag herself away, there was a moment of peace and quiet, before Smalls burst back in and ran back up to Sniper, who was standing next to Jojo.

 

“Just in case I don’t make it,” she breathed, not used to wearing a corset. Smalls then smashed her lips against Sniper’s, almost fearfully, as if she thought she’d never be able to do it again. After an eternity, she pulled away, before looking at Jojo, considering. Smalls realized that if she didn’t make it back, she would regret the things she never did, before kissing her suddenly. Jojo didn’t do anything for a moment, eventually kissing back with a fire that rivaled Smalls’. 

-

“Do you think they’ll succeed?” Darcy asked, breaking the silence that had entranced the room for hours. Sniper looked up from where she and Jojo were tangled together on one of the chairs, trying not to think about what could happen if they didn’t.

 

“Do you think they’ll survive?” the fear of genuinely losing her brother and parents began to set in, clouding Jojo’s head. The excitement of the previous day had prevented the gloominess of her family’s problems from processing in her mind, and once it did, she couldn’t do anything except worry. 

 

“If they don’t survive, I’ll bring them back and kill them myself,”  Specs tried to joke, but all 4 of them knew the stakes. At least one of them wouldn’t make it back to Brooklyn, and there was always the possibility that none of them would. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Consider Smallspjojo I Know This Was Shitty But I'm Begging For Content Here

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on tumblr my main is moldymilk and my writing blog is juliawritessometimes


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